


Page Eglantine

by disenchanted



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, Power Play, Service Kink, Shaving, hypercompetent stewardship, incompetent captainship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 05:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disenchanted/pseuds/disenchanted
Summary: Jopson gives Crozier a shave.





	Page Eglantine

Here in the winter in the dark of the great cabin everything looked like a painting that had been blackened by years of smoke and soot. The lamps on the walls were lighted, and Jopson had set another lamp on the shelf near the chair where Crozier sat, but the shadows were still deep in his face, the light barely better than shadow. It made Jopson’s work difficult; he had to squint and tilt his head, or tilt Crozier’s head lightly with a touch to the cheek, to see if the patch of skin he had just gone over with the razor was smooth or retained some stubborn stubble, still.

The tilting of the ship, too, made it difficult. The water in the basin stood at a severe angle, nearly spilling over the brim even though it was only half-full when held properly upright. Somewhere in the back of Jopson’s mind there was the fear, though he refused to entertain it, that if the ship moved while he was shaving Crozier, the razor might slip and he might slit his throat. He had always been careful, but he held his breath as he worked now, pressing the tips of his left hand’s fingers to Crozier’s cheek and holding him steady as he drew the blade in short, quick motions towards his chin.

There was a certain intimate pleasure in each of Jopson’s tasks—blacking Crozier’s boots, buttoning his waistcoat, fastening his epaulettes to the shoulders of his coat—but it was this, he thought, that he liked the most, Crozier with his eyes closed and his neck bared, for a moment doing nothing but allowing Jopson to perform this service for him. As Jopson scraped the blade along Crozier’s upper lip he put his fingertips on the side of Crozier’s mouth, pulling the skin taut to give him a cleaner shave; he let his fingers wander, then, to rub along the crease of Crozier’s lips, and Crozier did open his eyes then, only just, but with a knowing keenness. They both knew what would come afterwards.

Still, all in good time. There were things that had got to be done first; however much favour Jopson had earned from his captain, it did not allow for a neglect of his duty. Jopson took his fingers from Crozier’s mouth, tilted Crozier’s head to begin shaving towards his mouth from the other side, and Crozier closed his eyes again, though Jopson could see them moving beneath his eyelids.

Knowing that it would not please Crozier and that he had to say it regardless, Jopson said, ’Captain Fitzjames has asked whether you’ll dine with him on _Erebus_ tonight, sir.’

Crozier groaned; Jopson felt the vibration of his throat through the razor-blade, which he was pulling up Crozier’s neck, over his Adam’s apple and along the slightly sagging underside of his chin. This was the most dangerous part, and the sweetest. It amused Jopson, this accident of the class system—that every morning a gentleman’s servant should take a razor to his throat.

‘I thought I had declined often enough that he had given up asking,’ said Crozier.

‘It appears,’ said Jopson, wiping the flat of the blade along his thumb to clean it of excess shaving-soap, ‘that there are some concerns with the provisions, sir. As well as the continuing question of preparations for the spring.’

‘If there’s some counsel or direction of mine that he can’t do without, he can come to _Terror_ himself. He doesn’t even have to get on a boat to do it.’

‘You don’t have to get on a boat to go to _Erebus_ either, sir,’ said Jopson, ‘if I may say.’

‘Well, you’ve said it already, haven’t you?’

Having been quite cheeky, and recognising that Crozier was attempting to provoke him into further cheekiness, Jopson resumed his task in silence. With the practised care of the veteran steward, he dipped his fingers into the basin to clean them, then nudged Crozier’s head back so that he could razor through the last bit of soap that remained, gathered in that precious little divot beneath Crozier’s bottom lip. After examining Crozier’s face from several angles to make certain he had done well, Jopson took the cloth that he had warmed in hot water and smoothed it over Crozier’s cheeks and chin and neck, washing away flecks of soap and the tiny, faint spots of blood that always appeared when a man was shaved, regardless of how careful the one with the blade had been.

Crozier had called Jopson handsome, once, and said that he himself was not, that he had never been handsome, even as a young man. Jopson supposed he understood: the skin of Crozier’s face was pitted with old scars, his ears were long and hanging, his eyes looked like bright beads buried in layers of exhausted wrinkles. But his voice was charmingly rough, and he was a fine kisser, and a fine cock-sucker; and sometimes he could be very kind.

‘Shall you have your reward, then?’ asked Crozier. His eyes were open, his head was up, but he did not stand.

‘None necessary, sir,’ said Jopson, because the denial was part of the pleasure. He folded the cloth and laid it over the lip of the basin.

‘Then perhaps you’ll allow me to do you a service in turn.’

‘I believe that I’m meant to be the one serving you, sir.’ Jopson was hard; the blood had started going to his cock as he was brushing the soap over Crozier’s cheeks, and he had been aching all this while, untouched and unacknowledged. He could hold out for a moment longer.

‘Come here, Thomas,’ said Crozier finally. Though he used Jopson’s Christian name, he said it in the voice in which he gave orders, knowing that Jopson spent harder with that voice in his ear than with any sort of sweetness or indulgence.

Jopson did as he was told, because he wanted to, because he wanted to do what he was told: because he held Crozier in great esteem, because he knew that Crozier would let him fuck him later, when they’d the time. Keeping his left foot on the floor, he lifted his right knee to rest on the chair in between Crozier’s thighs; with one hand he gripped the back of the chair, and with the other he touched Crozier’s smooth, damp cheek. Watching Jopson, soaking in his slightest twitch or tremble, Crozier unbuttoned Jopson’s slops and put his hand on his cock, frigging him hard at first and then, once he had got used to the gratification of it, loosened his grip and slowed his strokes till it was unbearable.

If Jopson made a sound and there was someone in the passageway he would be overheard, and so he was silent, his mouth open, his gaze steady. He put his first two fingers on Crozier’s lips, just where they had been before; this time Crozier opened his mouth, licked at his fingertips and then sucked them down to the last knuckle, scraping his teeth along the skin. Jopson thrust his fingers into Crozier’s mouth as if he were fucking him and Crozier took it, wetting them with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks to suck.

Leaning close, Jopson said, ‘This is how I’ll bugger you later, sir. When you ask me to.’

Crozier’s eyes were watery, as if with tears. His hand on Jopson’s cock faltered, then pulled vigorously, pleadingly, in the same way he might tug at his own cock if Jopson’s was in his arse and he was desperate to finish. It was exceedingly difficult for Jopson to keep his face straight, but he did, even as he rolled his hips towards Crozier, fucked Crozier’s mouth harder, and after a brilliant eternity spent balancing on the pinhead of pleasure, spent, dirtying his captain’s hand with the thick copious leavings of a man who had been denied for too long.

When Crozier, having had his mouth freed, reached towards the cloth Jopson had used to wash him, Jopson pushed his hand away. He took the cloth himself, cleaned his cock and Crozier’s hand with it, then lowered his right foot to the floor again and buttoned up his slops. He smoothed his hair out of his face for good measure. The sight of Crozier before him—still sitting, his legs wide and his cock hard in his trousers, his cheeks patched with red and his mouth wet, his lips parted—was something to be savoured, and Jopson did, for a moment, just long enough to be certain he could keep it in his mind’s eye; whereupon he took up the basin and the cloth draped over it, and went away.

 

* * *

 


End file.
